By Wind or Winding Road
by ladyofstardust
Summary: One of those late night, "I'm trying to convince myself I don't love you" angsty messes in which Thunderblink confronts themselves. Short and sweet, post 01.04. Mild Thunderblink.
1. Clarice-

Another sleepless night.

Another dream that seemed to be within a dream.

Clarice was tired. Always tired. Always seeing the memories when she least expected, always seeing them when she tried to sleep, always remembering them when she sees him. They won't go away on their own, it seems, and she sure as shit can't seem to _make_ them go away.

She crawls out of bed for the third night in a row, alarm clock on the nightstand reading 3:15 am. Shadows from the lamp on the nightstand appearing suddenly, dancing on the bare walls and hardwood floor of the bedroom she was given during her stay.

Her head was in her hands, eyes squeezed shut with both frustration and exhaustion, breath still heavy from the dream – or was it a memory? - violet curls tickling her fingers while she steadied her breathing.

She wished Zingo had chosen to sleep with her again, but maybe she could find her roaming the halls or taking up the end of an empty couch in one of the common areas.

Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.

HQ was quiet tonight, a few soft lights would peek under a closed door here and there, a couple dim lamp lights bled into hallways or stairwells from the more private corners of the building. With so many people here, it wasn't a surprise that Clarice wasn't the only one awake at this hour. None of them were still awake from too-real dreams that crawled under your skin like hers did, she guessed. Lucky them.

The border collie was curled up on a pile of folded throw blankets at the foot of a lounger, head dipped down on her front paws with her eyes watching the doorway. It was as if she was waiting for Clarice to find her.

Clarice sits down next to Zingo, pulls her knees to her chest. She strokes the fur of her new friend absentmindedly, welcoming the calm and the softness of Zingo's fur. It made her feel as grounded as she could, to the point her mind started to wander. She doesn't want to, but she can't always help it, not lately anyway – she thinks about the almost-memory.

Of course she does.

Had it happened? Was it real?

She thought she would know if she and John had- no.

He wouldn't be acting like nothing happened if it was the real deal, right?

Clarice didn't even know how to answer that. It's not like she really _knew_ him, though that small peek into his past life was a start. And she's noticed how he acts around everyone in HQ. Supportive, lovely around literally everyone. Loyal. He does what he can because he _wants_ to, not because he _has_ to. And the way he looks at the rest of them, well, she's observant enough to see that he doesn't look at her the same. His eyes are always soft, he tries to joke around and lighten the mood, even if it's brief and his jokes are terrible.

Clarice runs a hand down her face, the other still buried in a dozing border collie's fur. She tried to push aside what she was beginning to feel for John, but this stupid movie reel was making it all the more difficult.

 _It's not like I'm staying here anyway,_ she told herself.

Though it wouldn't hurt anything to stick around a little longer. Not anymore, at least. She would make sure she never put anyone in danger again.

"Can't sleep?"

A voice pulled her eyes from Zingo to the doorway on the other side of the common area where John Proudstar stood, looking as stressed as she.

Clarice watched him for a moment, too tired to say something witty, something sarcastic. She just shook her head.

She tried not to stare at the half of John's face not concealed with shadow when it lifted in a small smile. He sat down on the couch next to her, and she let him.


	2. John-

There was always so much to be done.

Mutants always needed to be relocated, supplies always needed to be restocked, peace to keep within the HQ walls and Sentinel Services to avoid.

And now there was _this._

Tonight, John was overwhelmed. It was like things would just keep getting worse instead of better, like he may never get a decent chance at taking a moment to breathe, to have a day where he wasn't stressed beyond belief or worrying about losing more people he was responsible for. At least he had Lorna back, and Marcos was always around so it's not like he was doing all of this on his own.

But this. . .was something _he_ needed to handle.

Well, him _and_ Sonia. And Clarice, if she decided to ever speak to him again in the long run.

He didn't want to admit any of this – especially not to himself – but he didn't _need this shit,_ the same way he didn't need himself being sort-of-okay with the way Clarice has been acting around him lately. She seemed to be more relaxed. Open. Warm. She was still her sarcastic self, of course, but something had _shifted_.

John closed the book on the desk in front of him, a yawn breaking the silence that had slowly grown in this section of the building. He stretched his arms over his head, a hand dragging down his face when he lowered them.

The clock read 3:05 am.

Deep down he wasn't surprised Sonia hadn't told Clarice what she'd done, why she no doubt had gained some sort of feelings for John, or how there were probably memories still swimming around that sure as shit didn't belong to her. Sonia didn't seem to like confrontation much, but she sure did like John though. She's made that _quite clear_ lately.

And John. . .

John just wished Sonia would take her chance to take the high road, own up to her actions and be the responsible one. And soon.

Though at the same time, he knew Clarice wouldn't take it as well as he hoped. He didn't know her _well,_ but he knew her _enough_ to know she wouldn't like people toying with her mind and then keep that a secret. It went against everything the Underground was built on. Trust is everything here.

He just didn't want her to freak out and leave because -

 _Well._

She _did_ still need to finish her training, and John thought she could really be an asset for the Underground.

Another yawn pulled John out of the depths of his mind, the small lamp on the corner of his desk created harsh light this late, and he flicked it off. The sudden darkness woke him up enough to shake himself out of that half-asleep state. He would talk to Sonia again tomorrow, try and minimize the damage since sooner was much better than later. Especially since later would more than likely sabotage things with Clarice.

He stopped, mid-rise out of the chair. _What_ things _? There's no-_

Alright, so he really must be tired if he thinks he feels anything for Clarice that's more than friendship, or a friendly acquaintanceship at the very least.

Besides, he _can't_ fall for her. She's probably leaving HQ soon for Mexico and he already made a point about not dating. Not while he has all this work to do and – and it may work for Lorna and Marcos, but not for _him_.

Plus just met her. And if it weren't for Sonia's implanted dreams, Clarice certainly wouldn't be looking at him like she felt at home, like he hung the stars in her sky. Like she was finally as safe as she could be in this world.

Right?

So of course, on his way back to his room for the night he noticed Clarice as if on cue. She's sitting on a lounger in the common area closest to his office, knees pulled up to her chest with one hand petting a sleepy Zingo. She seemed to be deep in thought or almost dozing like he had been. He was lingering in the doorway before he could stop himself.

"Can't sleep?" he heard himself say.

She looks up immediately, un-surprised that _he_ of all people is standing in front of her.

She shakes her head, no quip or sass or sarcasm attached. He would have been surprised, had he not known what was probably keeping her awake.

The irony.

John let a part of his walls fall when he let himself smile at her in the dark. He took a chance, and she let him.


	3. Thunderblink-

_**By Wind or Winding Road 3/3**_

They both had walls.

Walls made of stone and a violent, suffocating, crushing wind fueled by survival and memories. Walls built from the ground up with a fence of flames and a raw, sheer force of will. Tearing that down – by _any_ means – was the absolute last thing on their list of things to do.

And _yet_ -

Maybe it wasn't.

Not _traditionally_ , anyway.

Everything had changed in the weeks that followed their impromtu late night hangout. They had both been almost visibly mortified when they woke up on the couch just before dawn, just before the Underground began to come alive with yawns and the scent of coffee grounds and toast and maple syrup and chatter. They were both quick to untangle themselves from one another when they woke, keen to make it out of the common area before the early risers, keen to get to their own bedrooms and their own beds before they had to face each other with their own thoughts, their own feelings, their own confusion and clusterfuck of a half-asleep mindset.

It had been weeks and neither of them spoke a word about it.

They thought about it, of course, often times more than they would care to admit, more than they would care to in _general_. Neither of them, however, managed to erase the sight of the other – seeing them for the first time, _really seeing them_ – half asleep, hair in faces and slightly disheveled, eyes clear and – and – at _peace_. Relaxed. The kiss of dawn was a worker of magic, and neither of them were prepared for just how powerful a moment like this would be. How much of an impact it would have, how much it would feed their own fears and longing.

It was the first good night sleep Clarice had gotten since she left her foster home.

It was the first good night sleep John had gotten since before he left for the Marines.

But thinking of it _now_ as opposed to _then_ – it almost made Clarice _sick_. Nothing was the same now, nothing would _ever_ be the same again. She had her mind toyed with and then it was _hid from her._ She was awake that night because Sonia played dream-catcher and _literally altered her m_ _emories_.

 _The worst part_ , she found herself thinking, _John knew –_ _he fucking_ knew - _and he didn't even_ try _to_ tell _her._ He just cozies up next to her and pretended like everything was fine.

She knew it was bullshit the second she thought about it.

He came on his own to find her when she left, gave up time and resources of his own – _important_ things, _vital_ , even – just to _find her_. Make sure she was _safe_. Bring her back.

 _Because the Underground needs you._

The Underground. Yeah, sure.

Clarice held the chipped ceramic mug of coffee in her lap with one hand, tightened her grip in Zingo's fur with the other as all these thoughts flew and whirled and sorted themselves out in her mind. It was late, but not as late as it was last time; it was early enough to be excused as gaining a last minute burst of energy, should anyone make a comment to her on the off chance that anyone noticed her sitting in the dark.

She didn't feel like sleeping, not lately. She was content to spend the night in her and Zingo's new late night spot on the lounger they claimed all those days ago.

With coffee, intentionally.

And her thoughts, unintentionally.

She was staring off into the depths of her black coffee when her thoughts finally cleared for the first time in days. Clarice knew this wasn't necessarily based on anything _normal_ , but then again -

Normal didn't really even _exist_ anymore.

This whole situation – it was heartache every moment, and she was going to _do something_ about that.

So when John Proudstar found Clarice Fong awake at an ungodly hour for the second time, he stopped. Hovered in the shadows cloaking the doorway. Slowly backed away, and then stopped when he heard a voice. _Her_ voice.

"Leaving so soon?"

"I just – I _thought_ – maybe you wanted to be alone this time."

Clarice pulled her legs off the couch, feet on the floor. She set her long empty mug on the coffee table in front of her, and stood.

"Cut the shit, John," she said, moving closer and closer until they were closer to each other than they've been in _ages._ Close enough John felt a chill run up his spine. Close enough Clarice was _sure_ he could hear her heart hammering in her chest.

She didn't give him a chance to respond before she kissed him.

And he kissed her back.

She took a chance, and he took one back.


End file.
